The Pet Shop - full length erotic novel (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels) (7 page)

I
T WASN’T
S
TELLA’S FIRST
time in the States, or the Northwest. She considered it a very good omen that her first trip for Strigida was to such a lovely place. In a lot of ways, the Western part of Oregon was like a primordial England that had been picked up by each of its corners and stretched and tugged and expanded. Then after it had been given a hearty shake to rid it of too many people, it was snapped like a puzzle piece in between Washington and California to glisten in the veil dance of wet Northwest sunlight.

There was plenty of talk about nature and the great outdoors with Vanguard. Stella had done all the appropriate research, brilliant research even, but the internet could only take her so far. On the last day of her visit, Vanguard sent her on an impromptu field trip with Bob Paris, the resident biologist, so she could actually see the site that was to be reclaimed.

She rattled down the road hermetically sealed in Bob’s muddy Vanguard Land Rover. She thought it might have been green, but she wasn’t willing to wipe away the grime and risk muddying her mauve pencil skirt and matching jacket to find out. The need for clothes more suited for outdoor life had not been something she’d thought about when she came to work with Strigida, but she was beginning to see the wisdom in a pair of good walking boots and clothes that could withstand the rigors of the natural world. Her lack of such attire and the fact that there had been substantial rain the night before meant it would be a drive-through sort of tour, with Bob hitting the highlights of reclamation, pointing out a few of the local birds and a couple of deer browsing at the edge of a clear-cut.

‘The clear-cut will grow back on its own given time,’ Bob was saying as he pulled the Land Rover to the edge of the rutted excuse for a logging road and stopped so she could look. ‘Erosion is our main concern here.’ He nodded to the dark patch of heavy forest next to it. Tall conifers draped in moss and spiked with mistletoe looked like giant, pre-decorated Christmas trees. ‘That patch would have met the same fate had it not been for Vincent Evanston.’

If Bob hadn’t before, he certainly had her full attention now. ‘Vincent Evanston? You know him?’

‘Yep.’ He laughed under his heavy moustache. ‘Always preferred to spend his time with the birds and the beasties rather than with humans. Guess I’m a bit like that too, but then I wasn’t born richer than God like Vincent. He’s a strange one.’

‘Then he lives around here?’

‘Has all his life. Right on the other side of those trees there. Speak of the devil.’ Bob raised the pair of binoculars that permanently hung around his neck then gave a confident nod. ‘That’s the Birdman there. He spends a lot of time in these woods when he’s home.’

She fumbled with the spare pair of binoculars Vanguard had lent her, giving herself a hearty knock on the nose before she managed to get them focused. Her stomach did a flip-flop, then a pirouette. Even with her unsteady hand and the thud-thud of her heart making the scene tremble in front of her eyes, she knew she was looking at Tino, who was looking right back at her. She caught her breath ‘You’re sure that’s Vincent Evanston?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve worked with the man often enough. Helluva naturalist.’

The butterfly dance in her stomach had moved up into her chest to do a mad mambo with her heart and suddenly she had to know. ‘Excuse me.’ She threw open the door. ‘I’m sorry but I have to go. I really need to talk to him.’

‘Wait! You can’t get out there dressed like that.’

She slammed the door on Bob’s objections and went slip-sliding across the road toward the man in the wood. Her kitten heels sunk in the pale mud with each step she took. On the other side of the road she found herself faced with a ditch full of fast-moving rainwater. It wasn’t that wide. She could have jumped it easily enough in trainers, but she wasn’t in trainers. She found purchase on a mossy rock and struggled to balance on the ball of her foot, but the rock slipped and turned beneath her sending her teetering with arms flailing before she sat down hard in the middle of the icy flow.

The gasp for breath and the high-pitched yelp barely passed her lips before he was on her, grabbing her beneath the armpits and pulling her to her feet with a heavy slurp and splorsh from her skirt, which seemed to be acting like a sponge. He half dragged, half carried her to dry ground and plopped her down unceremoniously on a mossy log. His curled fingers lifted her chin until her eyes met Tino’s dark gaze. ‘You scared the hell out of me. Are you all right?’ Tino speaking would have been shocking enough but Tino speaking with an American accent just seemed wrong somehow. She nodded, unable to reply.

He already had his BlackBerry out. ‘Bob, yes she’s fine. No, don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. Go on back to the hide.’ He slapped the BlackBerry back in his pocket and turned his full attention on Stella. This time it was not concern that filled his eyes.

‘What the hell were you thinking, out in the woods dressed like that?’

She was already shivering from the cold and the wet. ‘Guess the great outdoors isn’t my forte.’ She offered an apologetic smile.

‘Come on.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘My pack’s under those trees. Let’s get you into something dry before hypothermia sets in.’ But when she stumbled and nearly twisted her ankle in her now filthy mauve shoes, he cursed under his breath and lifted her as though she were weightless, causing her to gasp her surprise as he turned on his heels and headed back toward the pack.

She threw her arms around his neck and hung on tight, smelling wood smoke in his hair and on his plaid shirt, a smell that made her pussy tighten at thoughts of making love to him in the light of a campfire. They didn’t have far to go, just in the protection of the trees. There he eased her down on a huge stump and thrust a steaming cup of cocoa into her hand from a flask he’d dug out of a rucksack big enough that he could have used it for a tent. ‘Drink this. It’ll help warm you till I can sort out something dry for you to wear.’ He turned his broad back to her and began to dig through the pack.

She was trembling hard enough that is was an effort not to spill the cocoa. ‘You’re Tino, aren’t you?’ She spoke between chattering teeth.

His back stiffened slightly, then relaxed again as he continued to dig. ‘I’m Vincent.’

She sat the cup down next to her and hugged her arms around her shivering body. ‘I know you’re Vincent, Vincent Evanston, but you’re Tino. I mean, he’s you, isn’t he?’

He turned on her, grabbing her shoulders so quickly that she feared he would shake her. Instead, he began to chafe her arms, his dark eyes locked on hers. ‘I told you, Tino’s not here.’

‘But I–’

He swallowed up her words in an open-mouth kiss, taking her breath away, taking away her ability to think with the heat of it, the expressive depth of it. He bit her lip as he pulled back, still holding her gaze. ‘Tino’s not here,’ he repeated. His voice held the tiniest edge of warning. Then, as though it were business as usual, he bent and removed her shoes. ‘You’re lucky you didn’t break an ankle in these.’ He tossed them onto the ground and wiped his muddy hands on his trousers. ‘Afraid I don’t have an extra pair of shoes with me. Now lift your butt.’

‘What?’

He nodded to a non-descript wad of clothing now sharing her stump. ‘It’s not elegant, but it’s dry, now lift your butt. Or,’ the weight of his gaze was nearly physical, causing her heart to hammer and jerk like it was trying to get closer to him, or maybe run away from him, ‘if you’d rather, I can turn my back and let you do it.’

She released her breath slowly and lifted her arse off the stump, an act that in itself seemed lewd. He pushed open her jacket with warm hands and shoved up the edge of her silk blouse to unzip her skirt, exposing a swathe of her belly just above her navel. Then he curled his fingers around the waist of the skirt, catching the elastic of her knickers as well, and shimmied both down over her hips. His hands skimmed the lacy tops of her hold-ups, and for a second, she forgot about the cold. She reached out and raked her fingers through his unruly hair.

His breath caught in his chest, and he lowered his head to plant a warm kiss just below her bellybutton, lips burning on her icy skin. Then he pulled away all businesslike. ‘You’ll get hypothermia. You’re cold.’ The rush of his hot breath brushed her belly, causing gooseflesh to tiptoe up her spine.

She had little control over the trembling that gripped her body from the cold, and yet her insides squirmed with want as he inched the skirt down over her thighs leaving her hold-ups in place. ‘Please,’ she gasped between chattering teeth. How could she be so damn cold and so hot at the same time? ‘I need ... I need ...’

‘I know what you need.’ His voice was tight, accented by the heavy drag of his breath, much heavier than the expended efforts demanded. His dark eyes were clouded with a cocktail of emotions too complex for her to translate in her discomfort, but there had to be some anger and maybe some concern in the mix. The second kiss chased the descent of her skirt, lightning fast and humid on the apex of her gash, searing hot against the damp chill of gooseflesh, just above the place where her clit roused itself from beneath its hood. The delicious steamy shock of it unbalanced her and she dropped back onto the stump, her bottom settling into soft moss and her elbow sending the cocoa cup clattering into the fragrant pine straw.

He dragged her skirt down and shoved at it as though it had offended him somehow until it was in a heap around her ankles. Then he eased her left leg free, lifted it so her foot rested on his shoulder splaying her crotch for his hungry gaze. ‘I’m wet,’ she sighed.

‘You fell in a ditch.’ His fingers traced a ticklish path up the inside of her thigh above the hold-ups.

She squirmed and arched her back. ‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’ His words were short, clipped. He slid a thick finger between her heavy folds causing a sharp intake of breath. Then he rose to take her mouth again, forcing her leg forward, knee bent to press her thigh against her breast, making her pussy gape like a begging bird, making her bear down into the pillow of moss. ‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘I need ...’

He held her in his weighty gaze. ‘I know what you need,’ he repeated. With his free hand, he fought his trousers like they were the enemy until they were down around his hips. In her peripheral vision she could just make out his cock straining toward her. Then he pushed into her with a grunt, sending shockwaves up through her at the sudden invasion that filled her too full for comfort, yet felt way too good to be pain.

He gathered her to him and began to thrust. There was no preamble, no foreplay, just driving hungry need. She hooked her legs around him and held on for dear life, growling and grinding, feeling like she would split in two with each pounding. And yet she wanted nothing more than to live for the next thrust. It was as though her whole world had contracted to thrusting and shoving and trembling. She was freezing and burning and grasping, and he was pushing her, more quickly than she would have ever imagined, to complete overload.

The pistoning of his body raked the swell of her clit to a hard knot as he drew nearer his release. And when at last he overwhelmed her, she threw back her head and howled as her orgasm raged like fire melting ice. Only a split second later he convulsed and jerked on top of her.

For a few minutes they lay sprawled on the stump together catching their breath. Then, at last, he pulled out, and it was as though nothing had happened. Avoiding her gaze, he cleaned them both with the large blue bandana he’d been wearing around his neck, and then he tossed her a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms with a drawstring. ‘Put these on. We need to get you someplace warm.’ He packed up his rucksack while she struggled into the bottoms then he threw her a hooded sweatshirt. He tossed her muddy shoes into a waterproof bag and shoved it in the top of the pack, just before he hoisted it onto his back. Then he lifted her in his arms again.

‘What are you doing?’ she breathed. ‘You can’t carry me to your house.’

He nodded behind him as a dark blue jeep pulled up and parked inconspicuously by the side of the road, not far from where she had tried to cross. ‘I have no intention of carrying you to my house. Ed will take you back to your hotel.’

‘A
ND THAT’S HOW IT
ended.’ Stella stared out the window of the hotel into the full car park. ‘He gave me a synapse-melting kiss, thrust me into the jeep with his driver and waved me off to my hotel room. He said he had urgent research.’

She heard Anne’s
hmmph
on the other end of the phone.

‘What? You don’t believe me? I swear that’s how it happened.’

‘Look, Stel, honey, I don’t doubt that’s exactly how it happened, and you’ve made me so wet I’m in danger of sliding off the chair, but I just can’t believe Vincent Evanston is Tino. That’s ... That’s just completely barking.’

There was a soft knock at the door. It was room service with her mushroom omelette and the complimentary copy of the
Oregonian
. She motioned them in with the phone still to her ear. She had spent the night at the Airport Sheraton in Portland. She’d be flying back to London in a few hours after a successful meeting with Vanguard.

She shut the door behind the server and settled into her breakfast. ‘I know it sounds crazy. I keep telling myself that, but I swear, Anne, he’s identical. And he knew about Tino. He knew why I pursued him into the wood. How else could he know? And why else was he so anxious to get rid of me? I mean, he would have done that before we had sex if he wasn’t Tino. Don’t you think?’

‘Evil twin?’

‘Hot twin, I’d say. Totally hot twin.’ Stella poured her Earl Grey into the porcelain cup and sipped. ‘Anyway, I’m seeing Tino this weekend, so maybe I can find out for sure. I mean I’ve had sex with both of them.’

‘But you just said it was totally different.’

‘I know what I said. I just don’t see how there can be two people who look so absolutely the same but ... aren’t. Annie? I can hear the wheels turning. What is it?’

‘I don’t understand why you have to know, Stella. Tino’s a–’

‘Prostitute, yes, I’m aware of that fact.’ In spite of herself, Stella blushed at the use of the word.

‘Can you really imagine why someone like Vincent Evanston, someone with his power and his resources would be moonlighting as a prostitute?’

‘Tino’s not a prostitute per se.’ Stella contemplated. ‘He’s a Pet, and that’s so totally different.’ She picked at her omelette. ‘I could have turned down a prostitute.’

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Annie, have you ever been with him? With Tino? I mean you work for Strigida too, and you put in as many hours as I do.’

‘God no! Tino scares me.’

‘Really? Why?’

Stella could hear Anne shifting the phone. ‘You know why, Stella. I mean, look at the way you’re obsessing.’

‘I know, but I just can’t help myself.’ She held the phone against her shoulder and flipped open the paper.

‘Stel, you know if you find out who Tino really is, if you unmask the Pet, so to speak, then he won’t be Tino any more. I don’t understand why you’d want to do that? Why can’t you just enjoy and be satisfied?’

‘It’s your fault,’ Stella pouted. ‘You’re the one who left him with me against my will in the first place.’

‘Don’t blame me. I only did what I was told, hon. It was the Boss’s orders that you have Tino, so take it up with him next time you talk to him.’

‘I just might do that. I mean it’s pretty ballsy him thinking I need a ...’ her voice died away in her throat, as she glanced down at the paper.

‘Stella?’

On page four, she was greeted by a smiling photo of Tino! She plopped her teacup down on the tray, slopping Earl Grey over the crisp white napkin. As she read the caption the scent of bergamot filled the air.

In an unprecedented appearance, Vincent Evanston, reclusive philanthropist, to dedicate new nature reserve near Lincoln City.

‘Stella? Are you still there?’

The ceremony was this afternoon. Forgetting all about her omelette, she held the paper up to the lamp and squinted hard at the photo. The hair was styled differently. The face was shaved clean, and under the photo in small print were the words
Archive photo
again. And yet, this photo of Evanston made him look even more like Tino than the one on the news feed she’d first seen.

‘Stella? What’s going on?’

Stella jumped at the sound of Anne’s voice, as though she had temporarily been hypnotised by the gaze of the mystery man, even through the medium of newsprint. ‘Um, Anne, I’m gonna need another day here after all. I’m looking at the
Oregonian
, and, well, I ... I need another day.’

There was a gust-of-wind sigh. ‘Does this have anything to do with Evanston?’

‘Look, Annie, I was coming home a day early anyway, so it won’t matter, right? I’ll talk to you later. Bye.’ She didn’t wait for the torrent of questions she knew she would have no good answers for.

An hour later, Stella had rescheduled her flight, hired another car, and was speeding down Highway 18, heading back to the Oregon coast and to Lincoln City. The road atlas was open on the passenger seat and an enormous latte filled the cup holder. If she hurried, she could just make it.

It was not without considerable effort that she finally found the Fireweed Nature Reserve at the end of a not-so-well maintained gravel road that rattled her teeth and spattered the car with a fine mist of mud. She arrived to a clatter of binoculars and birding scopes. Even the journalists were dressed like adverts for L.L. Bean. She’d left Portland in a hurry. There still had been no time to shop for the great outdoors. With her clingy summer dress, showcasing cleavage and legs, Vincent would see her a mile away and have ample time to cut and run if he decided to. She hoped he wouldn’t.

At the beginning of the boardwalk leading out into the marshes was a dark wooden sign with the words Fireweed Nature Reserve burnt deeply into the wood along with an artist’s rendering of some tall plant covered in bright magenta flowers. She assumed it must be fireweed. At the lower corner of the sign was a stylised drawing of an owl on a branch sitting in front of a crescent moon. As she hurried up the boardwalk to the viewing platform where the dedication was to take place, her heels slid treacherously, threatening to wedge in the cracks between the boards. Tino wouldn’t have cared what she wore, she reminded herself angrily.

She stumbled up the boardwalk just as the introduction finished, nearly falling against a man draped in half-a-dozen cameras.

And suddenly there was Tino, looking rugged and considerably less vulnerable in his khaki trousers and cotton shirt. He waited politely for the applause to die down, and then he spoke. ‘As most of you know, I grew up not far from here.’ The resonant voice and the American accent were a slap-in-the-face reminder that this was most definitely Vincent Evanston. How could Tino possibly be an American? She listened as he continued.

‘My best memories are of a pair of barn owls who took up residence on our farm the year I turned 12. All that summer, my best friend and I watched those owls – even rigged up a camera and got some pretty decent photos. In fact, we were so obsessed with those birds that we started a secret club in their honour. We called ourselves the Night Owls. Those owls successfully raised five chicks that year, and I fell in love.’

He looked over his shoulder and nodded at the lake behind him. ‘Places like this are important, not just because of the sanctuary they give wildlife, but because they offer all of us an opportunity to fall in love. With nature.’ His gaze moved over the crowd, came to rest on her then moved on. She felt as though she had been gut punched, and yet what had she expected him to do? Forget everything and come running to her? He hadn’t been all that happy to see her in the wood, and he wasn’t likely to be any more happy now that she had practically stalked him here. Maybe he hoped if he ignored her, she’d go away. Surely this man couldn’t be her Tino.

He continued. ‘I have a reputation for being a recluse, but I’m not really.’ He offered a mischievous chuckle. ‘I just prefer the company of the residents of a place like this over you lot.’

To the sound of laughter and applause, he cut the red ribbon stretched across the viewing platform and stood smiling, shaking hands while cameras snapped and reporters asked questions. People adorned in binoculars and birding scopes now lined the rail of the viewing platform. The chill in the air as the damp summer sun fell below the wooded foothills made Stella’s nipples ache through the ridiculously thin dress.

She was halfway back to her car, feeling stupid and self conscious, when a strong arm slipped around her waist, and a familiar scent filled her nostrils. She looked up into Tino’s dark eyes.

‘What are you doing here?’ It still came as a shock to hear Tino speaking.

‘I saw your picture in the
Oregonian
.’

‘So you thought you’d just drop in.’

‘You are Tino, aren’t you?’

He picked up the pace. ‘Tino’s not here.’ With his arm around her waist, he guided her away from her car to a waiting limo.

She didn’t protest as he opened the door and helped her inside, sliding in next to her. Then he knocked on the privacy window and the driver took off.

‘Seems a strange vehicle to bring to a nature reserve,’ she said.

‘You really think so? My dad made the big bucks in shipping, you know, and the Port of Portland has a reputation for murder and all kinds of intrigue so rich men can have what they want. So of course I have a limo.’ He leant close and nipped her ear. ‘And you just hopped right in with me, didn’t you? You know what they say about accepting rides from strangers. Are you scared?’

She held his gaze. ‘You’re not a stranger.’

He chuckled softly and returned her gaze as though he were the king of stare-downs, then he released his breath slowly. ‘Anyway, I didn’t bring the limo, but you can’t go back in what I came in dressed like that.’

‘Then you have to be Tino, or you wouldn’t have–’

He covered her mouth in an insistent kiss. ‘What?’ He spoke against her lips ‘You think I wouldn’t notice the sexy English bird distracting me from all the other birds.’ He teased her lips apart, sparring with her tongue, making her insides feel like warm toffee. She was relieved to hear no anger in his voice.

She came up for breath. ‘But how else would you–’

He nipped and tugged on her lip. ‘Tino’s not here,’ he whispered against her mouth, slurring his words with the flick of his tongue. ‘There’s just Vincent.’

‘What are you, schizo then?’ she let out a little gasp as he nibbled her earlobe then the hollow of her throat.

‘Didn’t you take psychology 101? We all have more than one person living inside us, Stella.’

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, feeling suddenly disoriented as the driver turned onto the main road and picked up speed.

‘Portland.’

‘But my car. It’s a hire, and my bags–’

He kissed her again, and his hand moved up the inside of her thigh. ‘Don’t worry. My people will take care of everything.’

‘But I thought–’ With a sharp little gasp, she suddenly forgot how to speak, as his fingers slid aside the crotch of her thong.

‘Did you wear these for Tino, hoping he’d take them off with his teeth?’ He raked the hood of her clit with a heavy thumb, sending a jolt of heat radiating out over her belly and down through her slit. ‘Because I won’t bother. I’m not here for your entertainment.’

‘I never thought that you were,’ she said, giving him an ineffective shove with the flat of her hand. But he took her mouth again, and the way his tongue invaded and withdrew and invaded again, the way his fingers teased and retreated and teased again at the very edge of her gape made her stop thinking about ... well everything, really.

He pulled away at last and held her gaze. ‘We have until we get to Portland, Stella. You can waste time trying to find out about Tino or,’ he slid his middle finger into her slick pout. ‘You can spend that time with Vincent.’ His thumb pressed tight little circles around her clit. ‘It can be such a pleasant drive to Portland.’

‘I don’t even know Vincent,’ she gasped. ‘You never gave me a chance.’

‘As I recall, you overwhelmed me. I wasn’t prepared.’

‘You were scared.’

He held her gaze. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you were. I think you were–’

He kissed her hard, and when he pulled away they were both breathless. ‘Stop talking, Stella. There are lots better uses of our time.’ He demonstrated by burrowing, face first, into her well-displayed cleavage, wasted on the herons and otters at the nature reserve. He shoved aside the plunge neckline and push-up bra, until her breasts tumbled over like willing conspirators into his large palms.

The seat in the limo was almost big enough for an orgy. She lost the kitten heels and her toes curled in the plush carpet as he slid a second finger into her.

‘Not appropriate footwear for a nature reserve. Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?’ He nodded to her shoes. Then he huffed an exaggerated groan. ‘My back still hurts from piggybacking you.’

She reached out to slap him playfully, but he caught her wrist and held her in a serious gaze. ‘You could have broken an ankle or worse.’ He pulled her down and shifted her until she lay full length on the seat. Then he lifted her foot to his lips bathing her heel in his hot breath. ‘None of this is necessary for Tino, or me. What were you thinking?’ His words slurred as he ran his tongue up over her instep and suckled each toe in turn, causing her to buck against the seat as her pussy gripped his fingers in hungry nibbles.

He trailed kisses and nips and lovebites over her ankle and up the inside of her thigh while the relentless hand working her pussy never missed a beat. And when his mouth caught up with his hand, he shoved at the crotch of her thong until it was stretched uselessly over one arse cheek, leaving her splayed and twitchy and ready for the take-over. ‘I wanted to taste you out there under the trees, but you were so cold. I was worried.’ He didn’t wait for her response, but lowered his face and lapped at her clit and suckled her labia until she was heavy and distended, still gripping his probing fingers. She heard the sound of a zipper, the swish of clothing, and he pushed into her with a groan. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’ He held very still, making her wait with his fullness inside her. Making her want. ‘It’s a complication neither of us needs.’